A Sonnet for January

A new journal begins with a blank page.
Blue horizontal line or dotted squares
delineate or, demarcate or, gauge;
where handwrit squiggles will turn words to prayers,
where the author turns tales to story,
or where bullet points turn chaos to calm.
How to decide what purpose or glory
will the gilded edge notebook page embalm?
Yet, like snow untouched the paper lies bare
inviting footprints of play, of living.
The writer may sit down at desk to stare
and ponder what might be worth the giving.

So too we come upon January,
another year to make good and merry.